A Lover's Discourse
by pseudanonymous
Summary: Flynn Rider had always considered himself something of a sack artist, and unlike his literary namesake, he was happy to brag about it, too. However, Eugene Fitzherbert isn't so sure about his position where matters of the heart are concerned. Post-movie. Rated T for language, with implied sexiness; may well rise subsequently.
1. Anxiety

**Author's Note:** after much lurking and bingeing on the awesome _Tangled_ fanfic of others, I've finally decided to throw my hat into the ring. What follows is something that I've been messing with for too long; I decided to post it so I could stop making endless pointless edits and move on. Oh yeah - it will become rampantly obvious over the course of reading this (if you get that far) that I am British. Sorry about that. As such, Eugene uses some potentially out-of-character swear words in his head. I considered removing them, but I rather like them, and besides, Eugene is theoretically European...

Rating for language and possible subsequent sexiness. As ever, reviews/critique gratefully received.

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_The amorous subject, according to one contingency or another, feels swept away by the fear of a danger, an injury, an abandonment, a revulsion - a sentiment he expresses under the name of **anxiety**._

_Roland Barthes, 'A Lover's Discourse'_

Flynn Rider had always considered himself something of a sack artist, and unlike his literary namesake, he was happy to brag about it, too. A consummate technician, he'd seen – and done – it all, leaving a string of satisfied customers in his wake, as well as some considerably less satisfied families of formerly innocent young maidens. It was perhaps to his credit at least that he'd invested some of his early ill-gotten gains in a handful of waxed linen prophylactics; although it never felt quite as good, they'd helped save him from the clap or worse, and at least he'd not had to worry about getting any of his conquests knocked up. But then again, perhaps that was Eugene pushing through the façade. While Flynn simply didn't want any commitments, any ties beyond the moment, poor orphan Eugene remembered the loneliness and stigma of his own childhood – he wouldn't wish that on anyone, even if any child of his would doubtless inherit his super-human good looks.

For the better part of a decade, Eugene had been pushed aside by Flynn, his flashier, and largely fictional, evil twin. True, it hadn't exactly been torture having to go along for the ride when Flynn bedded a buxom farmer's daughter in the back of a hay wain, or an agreeable bar wench after hours. But if he was honest with himself, there was always something missing. Girls would scream his name as they clutched at his back, but that only served to underline the artifice of the situation; it was always Flynn's name on their lips, never his. Flynn could fuck a girl six ways from Sunday, but his heart was never in it. It wasn't that he was an inconsiderate lover; on the contrary, he had quite a reputation for his talents in the bedroom. But fundamentally, it was still all about the physical gratification, an impersonal exchange of animal grunts and bodily fluids. Once it was all over, post-coital clarity of mind would inevitably hit him as swiftly as a guardsman's arrow. When it did, Flynn would be itching to roll off the woman and find some excuse to leave, his baser needs sated. He might enjoy a bit of banter, and a spot of physical congress from time to time, but all his long-term dreams were strictly solo affairs. Every so often though, Eugene would manage to break through Flynn's icy emotional fortress, and wonder what it might be like to actually care for someone, to have them care for you. To fall in love. Had his heart ever leapt at the thought of seeing a girl? Had he ever felt that curious fluttering of the belly he'd heard was supposed to happen? Had he ever even really cared what anyone else might think of him?

She'd so not been his type. A skinny, flat-chested little thing with eyes like saucers, and a frankly creepy amount of hair. He wasn't overly enamoured with her propensity to whack him over the head with kitchen equipment, either. No, Flynn had gone along with her ridiculous plan for one reason and one reason only – to get back that damned crown. He'd tried to shake her off countless times that first morning, but there was no budging the girl; he'd had to admire her tenacity, if nothing else. But gradually, something had changed – all it took was a well-timed near-death experience. No, that wasn't all if he was really honest with himself. It took a lot of pride-swallowing for Flynn to admit it, but she impressed him, with her curiosity and her earnestness and her obvious intelligence. Not only that, but she was the first woman in God knows how long who'd failed to be won over by the smoulder – he had to confess, sometimes he got tired of battles he knew he was going to win.

Rapunzel never bored him. Sure, at times she came across as batshit crazy, but there was a profound honesty to her, a genuine interest in this new world around her – and even in him. She was the first person to call him by his real name in longer than he could remember, and certainly the first to whom he'd volunteered this information since he left the orphanage. This was a glaring weakness, a massive chink in his armour, and all of his own making. How had she succeeded in conning him like this, in tricking him into disclosing his most shameful secret? She'd beaten him at his own game. And yet as he'd sat beside Rapunzel that night, her face flushed in the glow of the fire he'd built, he'd wanted to spill it all, to let her catch a glimpse of the real him behind the carefully crafted exterior. His body had also decided it wanted to do quite a lot more besides, and so he'd had to excuse himself hastily, retreating to the forest to collect more firewood and bang his lecherous head against a tree. Since when did Flynn Rider beat himself up over amorous thoughts about innocent young maidens? By letting Eugene out of the prison at the back of his mind, Flynn had left himself vulnerable to all manner of emotional turmoil, and now Eugene was out there was no shoving him back.

Flynn wasn't entirely dead and buried, though. He had his appetites, and he knew what he liked. Every so often in his former life, he'd come across a woman who stood out for him sexually, who gave as good as she got; there was nothing more dispiriting for him than a girl who just lay back passively to be penetrated. When it was good, he'd sometimes had to come back for more despite himself and his fear of emotional attachments. He'd never worried himself unduly though if things didn't go quite to plan; the world was his oyster, and there was an infinite number of sexual pearls to be found within it.

All that changed, however, with Rapunzel. For once, he wasn't just thinking with his dick; he didn't know a lot about love, but Eugene felt instinctively that her heart was not to be trifled with. He couldn't woo her with words by day, then slink off to bed with another woman by night; his rediscovered scruples wouldn't allow it, and neither, he was sure, would her parents. There was that other complication – one day, she's this crazy chick with magical hair and a frog for her only friend; the next, she's the lost bloody princess. It was a miracle he'd managed to bring her within a mile of the castle without getting a crossbow bolt through his head; it was one greater still that the king and queen had allowed him to remain by their daughter's side.

Nonetheless, Eugene still didn't entirely trust himself – or Rapunzel's judgement. Gorgeous though he was, he was the first man she'd clapped her enormous eyes on. For longer than he cared to admit, doubts lingered in his mind. Was it all just dumb luck, a matter of being in the wrong place at the right time? She'd lived in a tower bereft of human contact for eighteen years; what the hell did she know about love? At least he knew about it in theory, if not so much in practice.

It had all come to a head about five months after they'd returned to the kingdom together. The parties of the early days had been fun, and in the carnival atmosphere he'd felt like a teenager again; drunk on wine and his second chance at life, he'd given in to his growing infatuation with Rapunzel, flirting and teasing and kissing without a care for who might see. However, as the days became weeks, the enormity of the changes facing him began to overwhelm Eugene. Before all this, he'd coveted the very castle in which he now found himself, but he was surprised to find that living the dream left a somewhat bitter taste in his mouth. He'd been Flynn Rider – a wanted criminal, yes, but a notorious and damned successful one. Now what was he? The princess's hanger-on? Her kept man? The Captain of the Guard continued to view Eugene with suspicion and contempt. Rider, Fitzherbert; a mere name change made no difference. And why should it? One act of heroism didn't tip the scale – especially since the whole dying thing, which made Eugene sound that bit more noble, tended to get edited out of the version of events for public consumption as being simply too unbelievable. As did Rapunzel's magic glowing hair, for that matter. At any rate, the abrupt change from a life on the edge to one in the lap of luxury came as a tremendous culture shock. After years dreaming of the easy life, surrounded by wealth, it staggered Eugene to find how ill-suited he actually turned out to be for indolence and inactivity. To begin with he revelled in his new fine clothes, elaborate meals and plush lodgings, but they soon began to pall. Love reading though he might, there were only so many days he could spend cooped up in the library, waiting for Rapunzel to finish whatever lessons or duties were on her increasingly hectic schedule. He seemed to see less and less of her, and what time they did have together was seldom spent alone; after the initial giddy excitement at having their princess back, concern for propriety took over for The Powers That Be. Sometimes Rapunzel and Eugene would manage to slink off together for an afternoon to the forest, and they could just be two young people getting to know one another, not the heir to the throne and her less-than-savoury suitor. They'd hold hands and lie in one another's arms in the grass, talking about everything and nothing. It was at once the most chaste and the most intimate relationship he'd had with a woman.

Five months since everything changed for them both. Six since he'd last had sex. It was probably his longest dry spell since he'd legally come of age. It was becoming harder and harder to keep his hands to himself; he wanted her, so badly. He shouldn't have been laying a finger on Rapunzel, but by degrees their kisses wandered. Together they discovered that sweet spot between her neck and her shoulder that made her gasp so needily, while Rapunzel delighted in how Eugene's breath would catch when her little fingers slipped open the collar of his shirt and pressed against the bare skin of his chest. What a difference half a year makes, he thought, exasperated; six months without sex and the slightest touch from a girl's hand had him helpless. But this wasn't just any girl. Lying alone in bed at night he'd take himself in (his own) hand, extrapolating these snatched sensations into fully-fledged fantasies that soon left him spent and gasping against the sheets. It was ridiculous; Corona's number one player had put himself on the sidelines, saving himself for his virginal princess.

He'd bedded other virgins before, sure; in fact, he was rather good at putting them at ease, if he said so himself. But the idea of somehow spoiling Rapunzel was sickening to Eugene, even though his own wants and desires were driving him to distraction. Personally, he thought the idea of attaching some massive premium to a woman's 'virtue' was a load of bollocks; unfortunately, pretty much everyone else seemed to disagree with him. The only way he could legitimately possess Rapunzel was through marriage, yet looking at the situation through Flynn's eyes, that seemed like an awful lot to go through to get laid. What if they weren't… compatible like that? Oh God. On some level, Eugene simply could not shake the fear that he'd fuck it all up. He'd trick Rapunzel into letting him have his wicked way with her, then turn back into the bastard he'd secretly been all along. She deserved better than his emotional ineptitude.

And so he'd left. He hadn't planned to do it; it just happened one evening. He simply went for a walk after dinner to clear his head, and didn't come back. Eugene had found himself wandering down to the square, then over the bridge to the mainland, and before he really knew what was happening, he was back in the forest. He ended up stopping in a clearing very close to where he and Rapunzel had spent the night, that first day he'd met her. He had nothing but the clothes he stood up in; in that respect, it was as if he'd wiped the slate clean, and he was back in his old life. He sank onto a tree root, and stared at the heavens. And shivered. Five months ago, it had been early summer, and fine weather for sleeping outside; now winter was setting in, and it was bloody cold.

He gathered his coat around himself and thought about what to do next. He couldn't return to the castle; by now it was well past midnight, and while most of its inhabitants would be asleep, all of the entrances would be crawling with guards. That would never have stopped Flynn Rider, but Eugene Fitzherbert had a different kind of reputation to uphold, however tarnished. The Captain would probably have a field day reporting to the King that the princess' beau had been caught pursuing nocturnal interests. No – best sit it out, and try to slip back in once the sun was up and things looked less suspicious. What to do in the meantime? Eugene sighed. His thoughts were no less muddled than they'd been when he left, and now he'd probably just made things worse. He didn't really want to think about the whole situation anymore; it was just making him miserable. Surely the best means of avoiding thinking was to go and get gloriously, ludicrously drunk; he'd got time to kill, after all. At least half a lifetime spent on the run brought some benefits – Eugene knew the area like the back of his hand. It wasn't more than an hour's walk to the Snuggly Duckling; it might not have been his watering hole of choice, but it was the closest, and one of the few in the kingdom that could be relied upon to ignore all official restrictions on alcohol licensing hours.

His decision made, Eugene trudged on.


	2. Behaviour

_**Author's Note:**_ Finally - chapter two! Many thanks to those who have read/are still reading, and especially to my reviewers: An Unknown Foreign Beauty, ItalianPrincess92, J. Metropolis, hatakevan and Sketch. As we all know, reviews are fanfic writer's crack. I hope to have more with you before too long._  
_

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_A deliberative figure: the amorous subject raises (generally) futile problems of behaviour: faced with this or that alternative, what is to be done? How is he to act?_

_Roland Barthes, 'A Lover's Discourse'_

The crisp night air bit at Eugene's cheeks as he picked his way through the trees. The sky was clear, and a frost was beginning to crunch beneath his boots. Teeth chattering, he dug his hands deep into his pockets, and looped his scarf around his neck once more for good measure. He sighed; it had been a gift from Rapunzel, who had lovingly knitted it for him over the course of the previous week. It was made from a soft lambs' wool yarn that she'd found on sale in the marketplace, and insisted on buying because its blue-green colour reminded Rapunzel of the jacket he'd worn when they first met. She'd bought all three hanks that the stallholder had in stock, and had apparently used the lot; Eugene had been taken aback when he first unfolded Rapunzel's present to find that the scarf was practically twice as long as he was tall. He could picture her impish little face as she confessed she'd got a bit carried away, before mischievously wrapping it around the two of them.

'Now you can't run away from me,' she'd said archly, her chin in the air at an adorable angle.

'Whatever makes you think,' he'd replied, kissing the tip of her nose, 'I'd ever want to do that?'

'Oh, nothing.' It might have been hindsight filling in the blanks, but he thought she'd looked a little anxious all of a sudden. Picking at a speck of lint on his shirt, Rapunzel pressed her head to Eugene's chest, before dropping her arms to circle his waist. Eugene returned her embrace, breathing in the clean yet intoxicating scent of Castile soap and rosewater. He didn't deserve her.

The smell of Rapunzel still clung to the scarf, Eugene realised, as he pressed on through the forest. Perhaps this was some sort of divine justice, punishment for his perfidy; he'd left to try and clarify his thoughts, and instead he could concentrate on nothing but her, her and her smell and what it did to him…

Thank God. Another aroma was starting to push through into his nostrils. Aha… the unmistakeable stench of unwashed bodies and stale beer told Eugene he was nearing his destination. As he trudged closer, he narrowly avoided being brained by the remains of a chair as they sailed through a broken window.

'Ah,' Eugene muttered to himself. 'Some things never change.'

Walking up to the door of the establishment, he pushed, and was greeted by a familiar scene of bacchanalian debauchery. Hookhand, newly returned from his inaugural recital tour, was holding court at the piano, belting out a song that appeared to consist largely of genital euphemisms. Over the fire, the cook was stirring a pot that seemed to contain fewer tentacles than usual, but smelled no less disgusting for it. Eugene glanced at the ceiling; sure enough, there was Shorty, stark bollock naked, sleeping off his stupor in the chandelier.

Picking his way through the throng of sweaty thugs, Eugene made his way towards the bar. He could swear the floor had got even stickier since his previous visit; it was like walking on flypaper. Thank God Rapunzel had agreed to wear shoes the last time they came... He checked himself. No more girl thoughts; not until he'd got a few pints inside him, at least.

Eugene slid onto a bar stool and without looking up, slapped half a crown on the counter. 'Hit me, barkeep: whaddaya got today? Make it the good stuff; or as good as it gets in this...'

'Rider?'

'Huh?' Eugene started, and raised his eyes. _Fuck_, he thought. It was Vladamir's turn behind the bar tonight, evidently, and the enormous goon was leering over him; as usual he was wearing that ridiculous helmet, but beneath it, he seemed to be... smiling?

'Hey guys!' bellowed Vladamir. 'Rider's here!'

'Er, you know I'm actually going with plain old Eugene Fitzherbert these days...' mumbled the interloper, but it was of little use, as he was soon silenced by a select band of thugs who were slapping him on the back and showering him in spittle as they shouted in his ears. Vladamir dumped a crusty mug in front of Eugene containing God only knew what sort of lethal brew; it smelled dreadful but potent, so he held his nose and swallowed deeply.

'What the hell are you doing in our neck of the woods at this time of night, eh, Rider?' cried Hookhand, who seemed to have abandoned his place on the stage.

'Yeah... does the princess know you're out this late?' asked Big Nose, suspiciously earnest. 'What have you been up to? And why didn't you bring her with you?'

'Yeah, why didn't you bring her with you? We like her.'

'And you don't like me?' Eugene muttered. 'Ouch.'

'Not particularly, no,' countered Hookhand. 'But the princess...'

'Ah, the princess...' sighed Big Nose. 'If I were the princess's boyfriend, you wouldn't catch me in a place like this.'

'But what about your lady love?' asked Eugene. 'Are things still alright with her?'

Big Nose blushed. 'Oh, they're pretty marvellous, thanks for asking. She's actually here right now… hiya, plunder bunny!' The thug waved over to a dark corner, and sent a slobbery air-kiss in the direction of a young woman who waved her mug at him excitedly, spilling most of its contents over Bruiser. Rather than sparking the brawl that Eugene feared, the ruffian instead began sucking the spillage out of his tunic.

Eugene shook his head, willing what he'd just seen to wipe itself from his memory. 'Well if it's alright for you and your girl to be here, why isn't it for me and mine?'

'Oh, you're welcome to roll up here if you really want to,' replied Big Nose. 'It's just we thought that now you're both in the royal bosom, as it were, you might have better things to do…'

'And more elegant places to frequent,' added Gunther.

'Yeah, well…' Eugene took another swig of his drink. 'The royal bosom isn't all it's cracked up to be.'

'Haha! Finally got her top off, did ya?' cackled Shorty, awake now but still swinging from the rafters.

'Shut up, Shorty', cried the rest of the thugs in unison. Eugene let his head crash to the bar in front of him.

'Don't listen to him,' said Tor. 'Rapunzel has lovely bosoms.'

Eugene spluttered, choking on his beer. It was true, so far as he knew. Rapunzel's breasts were small, rather like the rest of her; any larger, and they'd have appeared out of proportion with her delicate frame. He'd seen more than his share of bosoms over the years; as Flynn, he'd generally gone for the obvious choice, the buxom beauty aware of her own attractions and up for a good time. Lately though it was Rapunzel's more modest décolletage that had become the focus of his fantasies. Sometimes she'd sneak up on him in the library after her lessons; she'd clap her little hands over his eyes, then hurl herself, laughing, into his lap. Invariably, Rapunzel would then throw her arms around Eugene's neck, and demand a kiss. Where that kiss fell, however, was subject to change. If the librarian was still on duty, they might have to make do with a quick peck on the cheek. If the coast was clear though, things could get more interesting. He knew Rapunzel loved it when he kissed her neck, especially if he allowed his lips to linger along the turn of her shoulder, or grazed his teeth against her nape. Her grip would tighten around his collar, and Eugene would be treated to the sight of Rapunzel's chest straining against her corset, creamy skin flushed with incipient desire. His hands would splay against the taut, boned silk of her bodice, in a futile attempt to feel the flesh concealed within. She was so warm, so vital in his arms, and he longed to show her more, to let her know how much he wanted her, how much he…

'Hey, Rider!'

Eugene was snapped from his reverie by the cold, sharp point of a hook digging into his shoulder. 'Huh?'

'I said "so have you seen them yet or not?".'

'Seen what?'

'Jesus Christ…' Hookhand dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper before hissing, 'the _bosoms_!'

'What, Rapunzel's?'

'Who else would I be talking about, you idiot: the queen of England?'

Eugene quickly downed the remains of his drink, and beckoned for Vladamir to pour him another. The evening was going from bad to worse. 'A gentleman never tells.'

'Ha! You ain't no gentleman.'

Eugene sighed, and stared into the fireplace. 'I know.'

'Well, I wasn't expecting that.' Hookhand's scowl softened a little as he scanned the pub. 'Oi! Big Nose! Gunther! Get back over here!'

Not known for their concentration spans, the thugs had shifted their attention away from Eugene's unexpected visit, and were currently taking in Fang's latest masterpiece. Squinting, Eugene realised that while he'd not seen these particular puppets before, they were strangely familiar… oh sweet Lord, he thought. On the thug's right hand was a battered kid glove, a simple face rendered on it in large, uneven stitches. Its lower portions were swathed in purple ribbon, but atop the puppet was sewn several feet of yellow yarn. It was chasing its companion on Fang's left hand – the other glove, only this time decorated with green leather scraps, and topped with rather ratty squirrel-fur hair. Forget the bloody wanted posters, thought Eugene – this was probably the least flattering representation he'd seen of himself to date, and the gutter press hadn't exactly held themselves back in the weeks following his and Rapunzel's being thrust into the limelight.

'Take _that_, Flynn Rider!' squeaked Fang in a grotesque falsetto, as puppet-Rapunzel brandished a cardboard frying pan at Eugene's fleeing alter ego. The thugs cheered and guffawed as the puppeteer mimed Eugene being beaten senseless by his girlfriend. Great. His act of noble self-sacrifice was being dropped from the authorised version, but Rapunzel's pan-wielding proclivities were not.

Eugene concluded that he needed to drink more than previously thought.


End file.
